


Relaxation

by Khimaira



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom!Sam, Fingerfucking, Light D/s undertones, M/M, Massage, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 20:29:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khimaira/pseuds/Khimaira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is tense after a long night of research. Dean helps him relax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relaxation

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this on fanfiction.net back in 2010.

Sam figures it’s time to take a break when the letters start jumping in front of his eyes, Latin turning into a blurred mess on the yellowed page. He sighs and closes his eyes, leaning back in the chair and gently running his fingertips over the lids. He’s been at it for hours now, going through Bobby’s dusty old books in search of the right incantation. So far, his attempts have been futile. Sam’s eyes burn and his shoulders are cramped from sitting still too long.

Behind him he hears the sound of protesting springs as Dean gets up from the ratty old couch, followed by the clink of glass against wood. A moment later the heavy weight of his brother’s hands lands on his shoulders.

“Find anything?” Dean asks quietly, breath hitting the back of Sam’s neck in short, warm puffs.

“Nothing so far,” Sam says, groaning as Dean’s thumbs dig into his stiff muscles. “This would go a lot faster if you, you know, actually helped.”

Dean grunts and moves his thumbs in tight circles. “Dude, you know how I am with books. Besides, most of those aren’t even in English.”

Sam just sighs at that and leans back, resting his head against Dean’s stomach. Dean laughs softly, and Sam can feel the vibrations reverberate through his own body.

“Okay, that’s enough for tonight, research boy.” One of Dean’s hands strays from Sam’s shoulder to his hair, playing with the strands a little and raking his nails over Sam’s scalp. Sam lets out a sound that’s half sigh, half moan and tips his head back, glancing up at Dean through his lashes.

His brother’s silhouette is outlined by the sharp light from the naked bulb. It makes his hair look lighter than usual, more blond than brown, brighter along the edges. He looks almost angelic, Sam muses, and he’s pretty sure Dean would kick his ass if he ever said that to his face. Dean meets his gaze, pupils blown in pools of green. A smile is playing at the corner of his mouth, warm and loving and Sam’s.

“Seriously, man, you work too hard. You’ve gotta take care of yourself if you’re gonna make it through this crap in one piece.” Dean’s voice is soft, but it has a determined edge to it. “Finding that bastard is important, but not more important than you.”

“It’s fine, Dean,” Sam protests. “I’m fine.”

Dean leans down and presses a feather-light kiss to Sam’s forehead. It’s just a brush of lips against skin, but Sam suddenly feels warm all over, jeans going uncomfortably tight. Sam can feel Dean’s matching hard-on against his back, heat leaking through denim and the thin cotton of his shirt.

“Then let _me_ take care of you.” Dean gives Sam’s shoulders a final squeeze before letting go and stepping back. Sam instantly misses his touch. “C’mon, upstairs,” Dean says, grinning at Sam’s pout. Sam gets up from the chair and turns off the reading lamp, leaving the dusty tomes on the table and following Dean towards the door.

Dean’s ass looks good in those jeans, Sam thinks. Really good. He can’t help watching it as he trails closely after Dean up the stairs to Bobby’s guest bedroom. Dean has a swagger to his step, hips moving just slightly from side to side when he walks. It’s not all that noticeable, but it’s kind of hard to miss when you’re on eyelevel with his ass. His very, very nice ass, Sam thinks with a smirk. It’s a shame Dean would punch him in the face if he pinched it right now, because Sam has a sudden and powerful urge to do just that. Oh, well.

When Dean has locked the door behind them he turns back to Sam, taking a couple of steps towards him and opening his arms. “C’mere, baby boy.” Dean’s tone is teasing, but his smile has turned positively wicked. Sam huffs a laugh and closes the remaining distance between them, pressing close to Dean’s body and making a show of looking down at his brother, shamelessly working the inches he has on him.

“I’m not sure that name works anymore, tiny,” Sam says. Dean actually looks a bit offended by that and starts to protest, but Sam cuts him off with a kiss, pressing their mouths together. He licks gently at Dean’s lower lip, pulls it into his mouth and sucks hard. Dean moans against him and shoves their hips together, grinding his hardness into Sam’s. The friction feels amazing even through two layers of denim, and Sam pushes back.

Dean pulls back a bit, steadying himself with a hand on Sam’s hip, and looks up at him with mock anger. “For the record, I’m not short. It’s not my fault you’re a fucking giant.”

“Whatever, dude.” Sam kisses him again, opening his mouth when Dean’s tongue prods at the seam of his lips. Dean licks into his mouth eagerly, running his tongue over Sam’s teeth and the roof of his mouth before tangling it with Sam’s.

Dean tastes like the beer and pizza they had for dinner, and Sam sucks the flavor from his tongue, scraping over it with his teeth. He runs his hands through his brother’s short hair, grabs fistfuls of it and tugs, hard. Dean makes a loud growling sound and crashes their hips together with more force than earlier. His hands stray under the hem of Sam’s tee, running over the tight muscles in his back.

“God, you’re so tense, Sammy.” He sounds concerned, even though his voice is rough.

Sam shrugs. “Gonna do anything about it?” He traces a line with his fingertips from the side of Dean’s neck to his chest, tweaking a hardened nipple through the fabric and earning a hiss.

Dean seems to think about that for a moment, eyeing the duffle he’d dumped on a chair when they’d arrived the night before. Then he pushes Sam towards the bed. “Get naked.”

Sam watches him curiously but complies, toeing off his shoes and socks and pulling his shirt over his head. Dean is leaning over, rifling through his bag for something. Sam eyes the curve of his ass appreciatively as he undoes the buttons of his jeans and pulls them down, giving his cock a few quick strokes through his boxers before stepping out of his pants and throwing them by the rest of his clothes next to the bed.

Dean makes a victorious little noise and straightens up, spinning round on the spot and proudly brandishing a small bottle of massage oil. Sam smiles back and sheds his boxers by his heap of clothes. “Isn’t it kind of unfair that I’m the only one who’s naked?” he asks as he gets on the bed, shoving the comforter to the side and shuffling around a bit before lying down on his stomach.

“Doesn’t bother me,” Dean says cheerfully. The bed creaks a little as he kneels next to Sam, then swings a leg over his waist and settles just below the small of his back. Sam shudders at the feeling of rough denim scraping against his bare skin.

There’s a sharp click when Dean flips the cap open, followed by a soft thud as he drops the bottle on the bed next to them. Sam throws a look over his shoulder and sees Dean, who’s – fuck – still fully dressed, rub his hands together to heat up the oil. Dean grins when he sees him watching and smacks his shoulder. “Lie down, bitch.”

“I am lying down,” Sam protests, but he turns away from Dean and puts his head on the pillow anyway. He thrusts experimentally against the bed, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his dick, but Dean’s a solid weight on top of him, pressing him down into the mattress.

Dean’s hands are warm and slick when they come down on Sam’s back, rubbing the oil into his skin. He starts working on his shoulders first, where most of the tension is located, and Sam groans contentedly as his brother’s strong fingers dig into his flesh.

“You like that?” Dean’s voice is low and husky, sending sparks of arousal to Sam’s cock.

“Yeah,” he says, “Feels good.”

Sam gets lost in the feeling of Dean’s hands easing every last trace of tension from his body, working on his muscles until they’re loose and pliant. Dean’s quiet for the most part, making soft, encouraging noises when Sam moans under his ministrations. By the time Dean’s mouth joins his hands, latching onto the knob of bone at the top of Sam’s spine and licking and biting there, Sam has relaxed fully into the bed, feeling heavy and sated. His cock, hard and leaking, twitches where it’s trapped between his belly and the bed.

“Mm,” Sam moans, reaching back blindly to touch his brother.

“No.” Dean’s hand catches his wrist and pins it to the bed again. “Let me take care of you,” he repeats. Sam frowns but relaxes into the bed again.

“But I want to make you feel good too,” he protests, though there’s no real determination behind the words.

“You will.”

Sam doesn’t press it further. Instead, he focuses on the way Dean’s kissing his way down his spine, pausing at each vertebra to suck and nip, catching the skin between his teeth and tugging playfully. When Dean’s made his way to the middle of Sam’s back he reaches around his waist to snake a hand between Sam and the sheets, palm flat against his belly.

“So fucking hot,” he murmurs against Sam’s skin, running his hand over Sam’s abs. “So damn perfect, Sammy.”

Dean’s fingers, warm against him, are drawing circles on his skin, thumb sweeping over the jut of Sam’s hipbone while his tongue returns to Sam’s spine, slick and hot and amazing.

Sam shifts on the bed, trying to get Dean’s hand where he wants it, needs it. His dick is throbbing now, begging for attention, but Dean moves with him, pinning Sam’s hips down with a hand on the small of his back.  “We’re doing this my way, remember?”

“Since when is being a fucking tease ‘your way’?” Sam asks, hissing out a breath as the hand on his back strays lower, brushing over the curve of his ass.

“Since now.” Dean pulls his other hand back from under Sam, giving his ass another stoke before getting off the bed. Sam makes a low protesting noise at the sudden lack of contact and turns his head on the pillow to see where his brother’s gone.

Dean’s standing by the bed, methodically stripping and placing his clothes in a neat pile next to Sam’s heap on the floor, revealing miles of golden skin. The wound in his side has finally healed, Sam notes, leaving a pale pink scar in its wake.

Sam snaps out of his thoughts when Dean pulls his boxers off, freeing his cock from the black cotton. It’s huge and red and hard, and Sam wants it right the fuck now, wants to lick the tiny pearl of pre-come from the tip and wrap his lips around the head, wants to swallow his brother’s dick down and let him fuck his mouth until his jaw aches.

Dean seems to have other plans, though. He disappears from Sam’s field of vision again and the mattress dips under his weight as he settles on the bed behind him. His hands are warm on Sam’s thighs, gently pushing his legs apart.

“Open up, Sammy.” Sam moans and spreads his legs as far as they’ll go, feels Dean lie down between them. Dean’s hands, rough and calloused and fucking perfect, roam over the backs of Sam’s thighs before palming his cheeks and parting them, exposing him. He leans in and breathes against Sam’s hole, a warm, wet gush of air that leaves Sam shuddering.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” Dean promises, and Sam knows it’s true.

Sam’s expecting it, of course he is, but the first stroke of Dean’s tongue still catches him by surprise. Dean’s tongue darts out again, circling his hole and drawing broken moans from Sam with small, kittenish licks. Sam pushes back against him instinctively, wanting more, needing more, but Dean holds him down with a disapproving growl. Sam forces his hips to remain on the bed and is rewarded with a murmured “Good boy” from Dean, low and husky. Then Dean’s tongue is pushing into him, thrusting past the ring of muscle and flickering over his insides.

Sam figures his eyes must have rolled back in his head, because all he can see is darkness. Pinned to the bed, he doesn’t have enough leverage to move. His cock is painfully hard now, throbbing in time with Dean’s thrusts, but he can’t grind into the bed.

 _Isn’t allowed to_.

Sam’s dick twitches at the thought and he groans loudly. Dean’s rhythm has sped up, tongue thrusting in and out of Sam at a furious speed now. Sam’s breathing matches his pace; short, shallow intakes of air, not enough oxygen but so fucking good. Then Dean hums, tongue fucking vibrating, damn it, and yeah, Sam figures he’s not going to last long after that. He can feel his orgasm building already, familiar heat coiling in his belly, whole body tensing up, so ready, and–

And then Dean fucking _stops_ , and that just isn’t fucking fair.

“De-ean,” he whines through clenched teeth, “What the hell, man?”

Dean presses a kiss to the junction of Sam’s ass and thigh, catches the skin between his teeth and tugs. Sam hisses, mind a jumble of anger and lust and pleasure-pain. Dean’s tongue flicks out to lick apologetically over what Sam’s sure will be a bruise in the morning.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Dean replies simply.

There’s another click of the bottle cap snapping open, and then Dean’s fingers are circling his hole, two of them, slick with oil. Sam groans, pulls his knees up and apart to give Dean more room, but his brother doesn’t do more than that, just strokes over and around.

“Dean,” Sam growls in a tone that’s meant to be menacing but turns out more pathetic than anything.

He can practically feel Dean’s smirk.

Dean tsks teasingly. “Patience is a virtue, you know.” His fingers finally dip inside, just barely breaching Sam, drawing a gasp from him. They’re thick, Dean’s fingers, and even though Sam’s already pretty relaxed there’s still a burn. Dean works him open slowly, moving a fraction of an inch deeper with every thrust. The pain fades after a while, seamlessly transforming into pleasure as Dean fucks him with his fingers.

Dean hits his prostate spot on and Sam’s entire body jerks, a sharp cry that might be his brother’s name, might be a curse, tearing from his throat. Dean chuckles and adds a third finger, thrusts in and out a few more times, curving his fingers to rub over Sam’s prostate. Then he pulls out entirely, and Sam shudders at the sudden feeling of emptiness.

There’s a pause, and Sam turns his head to glance at Dean, watches him slick himself up. His eyes are inevitably drawn to where Dean’s spreading the massage oil over his dick with long, lazy strokes, head peeking out of his fist on the down strokes only to be hidden from view again when Dean moves his hand up. The movement is almost hypnotic, and when Sam snaps out of it enough to tear his eyes from Dean’s cock and look up at his face, his gaze meets Dean’s. His brother’s eyes are dark, only a hint of green surrounding the blackness. There’s an intensity in them that Sam can’t quite put his finger on.

Dean’s lips are pink and kiss-swollen, bottom one caught between his teeth. It’s a such a familiar habit, so typically Dean, something he’s been doing for as long as Sam can remember, and at that moment Sam’s acutely aware that this is his _brother_ who’s about to fuck him. He’s pretty sure he should find that thought disturbing, but all he feels is _Love_ , and _Home_ , and _Dean._

Those words have always meant the same thing, anyway.

Then Dean’s hand is at Sam’s hip, wordlessly telling him to turn over.

”I want you to see me,” Dean says, voice somehow both hard and tender at the same time. “I want you to watch me when I fuck you, Sammy.”

Sam groans and rolls onto his back, spreads his legs. Dean’s cock is resting flat against his belly, pre-come leaving a shiny smear on his skin. He pushes Sam’s knees up until his calves are touching the backs of his thighs, feet flat against the bed. He kneels between Sam’s legs, planting his hands firmly on either side of Sam’s shoulders, and looks down at him. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, voice low and ragged. “Do it.”

The head of Dean’s cock is blazingly hot against Sam’s entrance, and then he’s pushing inside. It burns, because while Dean’s taken his sweet time getting Sam ready, his dick is a lot bigger than his fingers. Sam focuses on his brother’s face, trying to tune out the pain.

Dean’s eyes are wide, lips parted in a silent gasp. He looks good like that, Sam thinks. Young. Carefree.

 _Like before he’d left for Stanford_. Sam feels a stab of guilt at that, like a cold hand squeezing his heart in an iron grip. His hands come up to Dean’s biceps, holding on.

“Dean,” he gasps.

“Shh,” Dean whispers. “So good, Sammy.”

Dean pauses when he’s all the way in, balls resting snug against Sam’s ass. His body is tense, muscles straining to move, but he holds perfectly still, gives Sam time to adjust. Sam feels full, stretched impossibly wide around Dean’s cock. It doesn’t really hurt anymore, just the dull memory of an ache, but Sam’s grateful anyway.

Sam runs his fingers over Dean’s collarbone, skidding over the sweat-slick skin. He moves his hand lower, palm flat over his brother’s heartbeat. Dean leans down and kisses him, opens his mouth to let Sam in. Sam groans and slides his tongue into Dean’s mouth, runs it over the hard, slick surface of his brother’s teeth. He licks at the insides of Dean’s cheeks, the hollow under his tongue, the ridges in the roof of his mouth, exploring all the hidden places.

Dean moans into his mouth and scrapes his thumbnail over Sam’s nipple, hard. Sam echoes the sound, head lolling back on the pillow as he arches into the touch. Dean pinches the nipple between thumb and forefinger, tugs playfully before leaning down and wrapping his lips around it. The warm, wet suction sends sparks of electricity straight to Sam’s cock. He shivers and bucks up against Dean, desperate for more.

“Don’t stop,” Sam gasps, threading his fingers through Dean’s hair. Dean responds by sucking harder, alternating between circling the nipple with the tip of his tongue and biting carefully, pulling a series of noises from Sam.

Sam can feel the blood pounding in his cock, forgotten between their bellies. He thrusts up against Dean, hips coming of the bed. Dean gives Sam’s nipple a final lick before pulling back to look him in the eye.

“Okay?” he asks, and Sam nods.

“Yeah. Move.”

Dean doesn’t need to be told twice. His hands latch onto Sam’s hips, gripping tight as he slowly pulls out. Sam hisses and tightens his grip on Dean’s hair, eyelids fluttering closed as Dean thrusts back inside. Pleasure races through Sam’s body as Dean rocks into him again and again, cockhead pulling at the rim when he pulls back only to nudge Sam’s prostate as he plunges forward again.

Sam swings a leg around Dean’s waist, calf resting in the small of his back, pulling Dean closer as Sam pushes back against him, meeting his thrusts halfway. Their bodies fit together, slip-slide of skin against skin, sweat and Sam’s pre-come slick between their bellies. Sam’s hands roam over the muscles in Dean’s back, nails raking over the skin, leaving Dean hissing and moving his head to the side in a silent invitation.

Sam leans up, buries his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and inhales the heady scent of clean sweat and musk. Underneath that are the familiar undertones of gun oil and leather, of the citrus shampoo Dean always borrows without asking first.

The slap of skin against skin mingles with their grunts and moans, echoing impossibly loud in Sam’s head. Dean’s pounding into him furiously, sliding over his prostate on almost every thrust. Their eyes meet, electricity crackling in the air between them, and then they’re kissing again, licking and biting and sucking.

Dean’s breathing is labored and his thrusts are becoming erratic, rhythm faltering just a bit.  Sam can feel himself getting closer, muscles tightening in anticipation. His nerve endings are singing, every movement of Dean’s cock inside him sending sparks of pleasure through him.

“Dean,” he whimpers, clawing at his brother’s back and wrapping his other leg around his waist, encircling Dean’s body with his own. “Dean.”

“Yeah.” Dean’s voice is barely more than a strained whisper. “Come on, Sammy.”

Sam keens high in his throat as Dean rams into him once, twice, three times, and then he’s coming, muscles clenching and relaxing as he coats their bellies with streaks of sticky warmth. Dean follows right behind him, stilling mid-thrust, lips open on a growl as he fills Sam with hot come.

Sam releases the breath he’s been holding, legs falling boneless on either side of Dean’s. Dean is still breathing heavily, hair damp and darkened with sweat. He lets go of Sam’s hips, leaving white hand-shaped marks behind, and collapses on top of him. Sam grunts at the impact and wraps his arms around Dean’s waist, pressing him even closer.

“Dean,” Sam manages, voice shaky and weak.

“Yeah,” Dean says hoarsely, resting his cheek against Sam’s heartbeat. “Yeah, Sammy.”

Sam doesn’t know how long he lies like this, with Dean over and around and inside him, warm and familiar and Sam’s.

It feels like forever.  


End file.
